


Relief

by Iwillbestrong97



Category: Fall Out Boy
Genre: Angst, F/M, Hurt/Comfort, trigger warning: self injury
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-02
Updated: 2019-03-02
Packaged: 2019-11-08 07:41:57
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,620
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17977178
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Iwillbestrong97/pseuds/Iwillbestrong97
Summary: Requested by Anon: “hiiii can you possibly write a one shot w Patrick Stump where he finds out you are a self harmer (or used to be) (maybe he catches you?) and he’s all upset and tries to make you feel better and it’s cute.” Originally posted on Tumblr.





	Relief

**Author's Note:**

> This is not meant to glorify self-harm. Please get help if you need it.

I threw my test into the trash. I failed. Again. I tried. Every time I try but it never works. I’ll always be a failure.

I fell onto my bed and stared up at the ceiling. My parents were going to kill me. They were paying for school and I couldn’t even pass the classes. I wish I didn’t have to feel anymore. I turned my head to look at my dresser. The drawer in the left corner. Hidden in an old necklace case. There was my relief.

I zoned out for bit, just staring. At least this was something I could control. At least this was something I was good at. I stood and walked over to open the drawer. My parents thought I stopped this. They thought this was some stupid phase that I would just get over once I finished high school.

I grabbed the little box and made my way to the bathroom. I looked both ways before crossing the hall. It was late enough that my parents were probably watching their evening shows. I shut and locked the door. It’s been a while since the last time I did this.

I dumped the little blade onto the sink. I just looked at it for a moment before reaching under the sink for the rubbing alcohol. I cleaned the blade and made sure I had the bandages ready. I rolled my sleeves up and ran my fingers over the healing scars. It was late fall so they were easy to cover up. Easy to hide from Patrick.

He didn’t need to know about this. Especially not him. He didn’t need to know how fucked up I was. I didn’t want him to leave like almost everyone else did.

So, I held the little blade. And I took a deep breath. I deserve this.

-

The next day was the day I had a class with Patrick. He made my days a bit brighter. He was a sweetheart. Cared about everyone. Was always happy to help. Of course, girls sometimes crowded him. He was in my music history class. He was the reason I was passing.

“Hey, (Y/N)! We still on for tonight? I’ll bring the pizza.” He jogged up to me as I was walking. I pulled my sweater down over my hands and smiled at him.

“Yea of course. I’ll make sure there’s some pop in the fridge. I just wish you could help me with my other classes too.” He tossed his arm over my shoulders and guided me into the classroom. I received a few glares from the other girls.

“I can try to help if you really want it. I know you’re smart so I’m sad you’re not doing well in your other classes.” We took our seats in the back of the classroom. Our professor walked in and began telling us about a concert that was going to be taking place on campus.

Apparently, someone was coming in to do covers of things like swing, jazz and blues music. I saw Patrick’s face light up and he grabbed my arm in his excitement. I tried to not flinch but I did gasp at the pain. He looked at me slightly confused.

“You alright? I didn’t think I grabbed you that hard, sorry.” I shook my head and smiled, trying to ignore the light sting.

“No, I’m fine. You just surprised me.” He looked skeptical but if he was going to say something, the professor started his lecture first.

-

Thankfully the class ran a bit late so Patrick didn’t have time to ask questions before we had to go our separate ways. My next class dragged even as I took notes throughout the whole thing. The drive home seemed longer than normal. It felt like things were going at half speed.

I meandered around my empty house, waiting for Patrick to show up. Thursdays were the only day I got home before my parents since they both worked late.

I found myself in the bathroom again. I couldn’t feel anything. I was numb. I pulled out the box that I hid in the bag of pads. I felt a tear slip down my face. I needed to feel. I had to be normal again before Patrick showed up.

My hands were shaking as I picked up the blade. Tears flowed freely. I cut right above the first one. The blood welled up and then dripped down onto the counter. I slid down the wall, staring at my arm. What was wrong with me?

“(Y/N)? Where are you?” Patrick’s voice made me freeze. I hadn’t even heard him come in. Then I remembered that I had left the garage open for him. He was coming up the stairs and I knew I needed to close the door. I scrambled to close it but I was still holding the blade. It dug into my hand and I dropped it, my finger bleeding. Too late.

“(Y/N)…” He took in the sight of me on the floor. Blood on my arm and hands. He fell to his knees in front of me. He was grabbing toilet paper and pressing it against my wrist. I saw a tear fall onto his jeans.

“Patrick,” I started. He told me to “shh.” He opened the cabinet and pulled out the rubbing alcohol and pours a bit on the toilet paper. It burned but he held my arm tight. I wish I knew what he was thinking. He let go but only for a moment to grab the band aids. He poured a bit more alcohol on the white pad. Then he wrapped my arm. The cut on my finger was small enough for a regular one. He paused for a moment, just holding my hand.

“Are there any others,” he asked? His voice was calm and almost soothing. But when he looked up at me, his eyes were starting to turn pink from crying. I shook my head. He picked up the blade and set it on the counter. Then he pulled me against him.

He held me tightly, like he was trying to hold me together. I couldn’t hold my tears back. My body shook with sobs. My arms wrapped around him. I didn’t want him to let go. He couldn’t. I’d fall apart.

I don’t know how long we sat there on the floor with me in his arms. I know that eventually my crying stopped. Patrick was petting my hair softly. I had to face him eventually. I sat up to look at him. He spoke before I could.

“Let’s get out of the bathroom. Somewhere more comfortable.” I nodded. And we stood up. Patrick flushed all the toilet paper and then grabbed the blade. He put it back in its box and held onto it. He held my hand as we walked to my room. We sat on my bed.

“I guess I want to know why. But more than that, why you didn’t come to me when you were feeling this way. I’m your friend and I want to help,” he said. He ran his thumb over the back of my hand. The action was soothing.

“I just can’t feel anything. I’ve gone numb. I fail at everything. I’m a disappointment to my family. And I guess… I didn’t tell you because that’s too much of a burden on you. I didn’t want you to leave me. I understand why you would. I’m fucked.” Tears started to slip down my face again. Patrick wiped them away and force me to look at him.

“You are not a disappointment. You are smart and strong. And you are never a burden on me. The thought never crossed my mind. I would never leave you either. You are not ‘fucked.’ I believe in you. I believe that you can make it through this.” I tried to pull away from him. How could he say these things?

“Hey. Look at me.” His voice was firm and non-negotiable. “I love you, (Y/N). I know me saying that won’t heal you. But I do. And every day I will do everything in my power to make you feel how much I love you. Show you how beautiful you are to me.” He took my arm and kissed the bandages.

“I wish you wouldn’t do this to yourself. You don’t deserve this. Lean on me, ok? I will be here. I’m not going anywhere. I love you and I’m not going anywhere.” He pulled me to him again. He kissed my forehead. I wanted to believe him.

“You’ll see how horrible I am…” He cut me off.

“I love you and I’m not going anywhere,” he repeated. He would kiss my head periodically as we hugged.

I promised him that I would try to stop. He wanted me to go talk to a therapist but I wasn’t sure if I could. He didn’t push the matter. At some point, we had laid down. My head rested on his chest as he held me. He was being so perfect. How could someone like him love me? But I guess I loved him, too.

“Patrick. I love you,” I mumbled into his shoulder. He must have heard me because his grip tightened. I lifted my head to look at him. He was smiling at me. He ran his hand down my face. Then he leaned in slowly, giving me time to back out. I didn’t.

His mouth was soft and sweet. It was short but it was enough. I couldn’t help but smile.

“You are so beautiful,” Patrick said. I would get better. With his help, I would get better.


End file.
